With Just One Look
by M. Rig
Summary: Booth tries a little experiment to test Brennan's attraction to him... one-shot


_This is my first fan fiction ever. I've been so impressed with the stories I've read here that I decided to brave-up and try my own. Please let me know what you think._

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Booth snuck a look at his watch as the silence in Sweets' office stretched into minutes. This was his least favorite task, worse than paperwork, worse than when the stench of human remains made his eyes water, worse than the look the squints gave him when they thought he was too dumb to understand. This. Sitting across from Lance Sweets, who looked at him and his partner like they were test tubes full of something curious. He glanced at Bones, who looked lost in thought, as usual, her guileless blue eyes fixed in middle distance.

"So, …? During that last interrogation, I noticed you were both somewhat agitated. How do you… _feel _about it now?" Sweets asked, leaning forward with his best shrink expression.

Bones looked up suddenly, as if a thought had just occurred to her.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't listening," she said impatiently. "But there was something I wanted to get your opinion on."

Sweets' face lit up, pleased that Dr. Brennan wanted his opinion on anything.

"Lately…" she continued, looking puzzled, "I believe I've been experiencing a type of adverse reaction to Booth. Possibly an allergy." She turned to face her partner. "Have you changed your cologne, or laundry detergent recently?"

Booth scowled. "Did you just say you're allergic to me, Bones?"

"Not precisely, no. But perhaps a chemical that you're inadvertently using. I have a very prodigious sense of smell. Do you use fabric softener? Or have you changed the type of soap you use recently?" she asked, studying him intently.

Booth shot an incredulous look at Sweets, who regarded them with his usual academic seriousness. "What sort of allergic reaction have you been experiencing, Dr. Brennan?" he asked.

"This is ridiculous…" Booth mumbled to himself, checking his watch again.

"Well lately," she explained, "I've noticed some strange physiological indicators when I'm in close proximity to Booth."

Sweets prompted, "Things like…"

"Primarily, increased cardiac function, even sometimes dizziness, and all I can hypothesize is that I'm experiencing some type of allergen response to a chemical."

Sweets frowned thoughtfully. "Are you experiencing any symptoms now?"

Brennan regarded her partner carefully, as he squirmed under the academic curiosity of her gaze. "Not currently," she conceded.

"Bones, are you kidding me?" Booth asked incredulously. "Are you telling me I stink?" He subtly shifted to smell the lapels of his jacket and shrugged.

"No!" She replied. "In fact, I have often noted that you have a pleasant smell."

"Gee, thanks," he said, rolling his eyes.

"It's just that…" she frowned in confusion, unsure how to explain. "Here," she said, getting up from the couch to grab Sweets' hand, pulling his fingers roughly to the base of her throat. Sweets was taken aback, clearly uncomfortable, as Dr. Brennan pushed his fingers against the pulse point in her neck. "Feel my pulse," she commanded.

"I…don't…" Sweets blushed, unsure how to handle such an unorthodox situation in the therapist-patient relationship.

"Surely your psychological training, lacking completely in rational basis as it is, included the rudiments of human physiology," she demanded stubbornly.

Dr. Sweets sighed and concentrated on the steady pulse under his fingertips. He shrugged. "Feels like a normal pulse to me."

"Exactly!" she cried. "But observe what happens when I…" she returned to the couch, unceremoniously sitting right next to her partner, practically in his lap, and leaned towards him expectantly.

Booth froze, staring at her face mere inches from his own, and held his breath. _What the hell was she doing? Did she really have no idea what it did to him, to have her practically on his lap, looking right into his eyes like this? In front of Sweets? He couldn't take this. _Booth struggled to act casual as Brennan craned her delicate neck all around him, actually sniffing –_sniffing—_him as he if were a specimen in the lab, her face thoughtful and serious.

"There!" she cried triumphantly, returning to Sweets and again forcing his fingers to the base of her throat. "Do you feel that?" she demanded. "I am positively tachycardic!"

Dr. Sweets paused, surprised to note that her pulse was, undeniably, racing beneath his fingertips. His eyebrows shot up. "In fact, I do," he said with sudden concern. "Your pulse is definitely elevated."

Brennan returned to the couch looking frustrated. "I told you! And this has been happening with increased frequency lately. It's extremely puzzling."

Booth leaned forwards, injecting himself crankily into their little experiment session. "Wait a minute, Bones, are you telling me that… that what, that you're having some sort of heart attack because of the way I smell?"

"Well that's highly unlikely," Dr. Sweets explained. "Generally, allergic reactions to scents would manifest themselves either in the sinuses or on the epidermis." He paused at Booth's dark glare. "Sneezing, or a rash, if you will," he explained.

"I haven't had any of those. Just the increased heart rate and dizziness."

As the two good doctors discussed her symptoms, and their possible causes, Booth's mind spun. And then suddenly it hit him—something so obvious, so human, that the two eggheads next to him were shockingly overthinking. It was so stupid, so incredibly funny. It was moments like these that he loved, no—lived for—messing with his partner's beautiful head. He couldn't help himself. Even in front of Sweets, he just had to mess with her, to see if there was any possibility that he was right. Because if he was…

"Being that you two are scientists, how about we do a little experiment here?" he suggested casually, doing his best to hold back the slow grin that threatened to tip his hand.

They both looked surprised at his willingness to embrace the scientific method, but nodded agreeably.

"Okay, so Bones, you go all the way over there on that side of the room. Got it? And Sweets, you go stand next to her. Now I'm going to stand alllllll the way over here, okay?"

The doctors followed his instructions, waiting expectantly.

"Now Sweets," he said, flinching inwardly as he actually instructed another man to touch his partner's pale, vulnerable skin—something he thought he would never, ever do. "You monitor her pulse—the _wrist,_ Sweets, the wrist is probably fine here—Bones? Can you, ah, smell me at all, all the way across the room like this?"

"No," she confirmed. "I cannot."

"Okay then Bones, I just want you to look at me. We're just going to stand her for awhile, and I just want you to keep looking at me, okay?"

She shrugged, looking uncertain. "Okay."

Sweets held her wrist between his thumb and forefinger, studiously concentrating on her pulse.

"Sweets, is that pulse down to normal?" Booth asked.

"Yes," he replied.

"Perfect. Alright then." Booth leaned back against the wall of Sweets' office, holding Brennan's gaze intently. He willed his body to relax, locked his thumbs in his belt, and tried to look casual. She was staring back at him silently, as Sweets concentrated on her wrist.

He looked directly at her and let all the dirty thoughts rise to his mind—all the things he tried not to think about when he was with her, all the things that snuck into his dreams nonetheless, all the things that he wanted to do to her, his most devious ideas for her serious little mouth, the expression he wanted to put on her face when he entered her body. How incredibly good it would be. The office receded around him, and all he could see was her face. Flashes of skin, of sweat. Little gasps. Claw marks down his back. He focused on his shocking, deplorable, x-rated fantasies, and let his thoughts show on his face. Let them narrow his eyes, open his mouth just slightly as if he were prepared to kiss her, let his muscular chest rise and fall with deep, shaky breaths as he stared directly into her eyes, trying to show her how he felt. Lust. Love.

Even from across the room, he could see her pupils dilate, her eyes widen in response to the expression on his face, as he stared her down like a wolf spotting prey. He wet his lips and softly growled one word—just one word, loaded with all his pent-up emotion. "Temperance."

She actually gasped. Sweets looked up in confusion, but Booth had already composed himself, his face returned to the friendly, stoic professionalism of the workplace. Still, there was just a split second when Sweets almost imagined he could feel some sort of electricity in the air, and as he looked at Dr. Brennan's flushed face, he understood. Of course. He should have known. He dropped her wrist awkwardly, ashamed that such an obvious human reaction had escaped his psychological training. He felt like kicking himself, and was unbelievably irritated that Booth had obviously understood the situation well before he did.

"Yep," Dr. Sweets admitted in embarrassment, "Your pulse definitely ah, increased."

"But why?" Bones asked, increasingly irritated and perplexed. She really had no idea why the simple act of Booth staring at her and saying her name could cause her body to react so demonstrably. She had actually _gasped. _But why?

Dr. Sweets laid an almost sympathetic hand on her shoulder as he steered her back to the couch, completely unsure of what to say next.

Booth lounged against the wall, casually tossing a desk toy in the air, looking totally innocent and far too cheerful. He was actually whistling, looking for all the world like nothing had happened. Dr. Sweets was dying to know how he felt about his partner's palpable attraction to him. Another thing Sweets knew was that he didn't plan to touch this issue with a ten-foot pole. He couldn't be the one to explain to Dr. Brennan—undeniably a genius—that she was perhaps one of the few people on the planet who couldn't recognize her own arousal.

Booth's cell phone rang. "Saved by the bell!" he said jovially, answering his phone.

Dr. Brennan sagged against the couch, looking defeated and mystified.

"Bones," he said, returning the phone to his pocket. "We've got a case."

He led her to the door of Sweets' office, his hand hovering protectively at her lower back as usual. She grumpily obeyed his prodding; she sensed all-too-familiarly that she was the only one who didn't get the joke. Booth shot Sweets a look over his shoulder—the face he reserved for terrifying suspects, the face that clearly conveyed that the psychiatrist was unwelcome to press the matter any further.

After they left, Dr. Sweets remained at his desk, mulling over what he had just observed. His two patients never failed to amaze him. Just today, how fast Booth had gone from predatory to protective was astounding. Sweets wondered if Booth himself ever thought about crossing that line. Well clearly, he _thought_ about it. Thought about it twenty or so times a day, if he was an average male. But would he ever take the risk of showing his partner what she was actually feeling? Dr. Sweets got out his notebook to jot down his thoughts. His two patients were _fascinating._


End file.
